Fusion
by nightwish-shadowstalker
Summary: There's no such thing as a human telepath. Bones/OC, some Kirk/Spock if you squint a bit. Spoilers: warnings for suicide attempts, depression, self-harm and angst. If that's trigger-y, please don't read.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Star Trek. Because we all know I don't obsess over Karl Urban enough. Bones/OC, some Kirk/Spock. Spoiler: warnings for suicide attempts, depression and self-harm. And it's long.**

**I can't seem to write fanfiction where all the characters are happy and go on adventures, can I?**

He finds Kepton on the Observatory Deck, alone. The lights are dim, but he can still see a silhouetted form lying on his back, looking up, out at the stars streaking past. He's lying perfectly still, almost unnaturally so. Most people would shuffle or fidget, but Alex's current posture bears an unsettling resemblance to a corpse. Vulcan control, he presumes.

"Kepton?" Then, more softly, "Alex?"

The silhouette moves a little and looks at him. "Leonard?"

Leonard walks over, carefully, trying to stay silent. It seems unwise to disturb the younger man's concentrated stillness. Not quite sure what to do, he sits cross-legged next to him on the floor.

"Alex, what's wrong?" he asks. Close to, he can see the faint tear-tracks on the younger man's face in the starlight.

"With Vulcan gone…"

Alex's fists clench as he tries to hold back more tears. Something twists in Leonard's chest.

"At least I could say I had family there. I belonged. Even if I wasn't Vulcan, I had people there who cared about me. Now…" Another pause, another moment of tense silence stretching out and then breaking. "Now there is no-one."

Hesitantly, unsure, Leonard reaches out and gently runs his fingers down over the back of his hand, pausing briefly against his knuckles before he pulls his hand back. Alex's fists are still curled, clenched and white, but speckled with red from self-inflicted cuts and bruises. The wounds are from where he's been punching the walls – in rage, in sorrow, perhaps in self-disgust. He is loath to admit it, but his emotions still hold power over him.

Even in that brief touch, he can feel the raised scars; the split knuckles from punching a wall, the long narrow scratches from the nails of the other hand digging in and tearing skin. He's been treating them himself, refused to let anyone else near him. Until now, anyway.

He knows perfectly well how dangerous this is. Alex is a touch-telepath. The odds are good that he knows from that brief touch – from the brush of Leonard's fingers over his wounds – exactly what the doctor is thinking.

"That's not true," he says softly. "It's not true and you know it."

Alex's eyes open and look at him. Even now, he's watchful, wary. But he turns his hand over and lightly touches his fingers to the back of Leonard's hand. Thoughts skitter across the link, skating on the surface.

_It hurts. It hurts. They are … gone. There is a… a void where they should be. _

_I know. I know. But you're not alone in this._ He tried to send whatever feelings of _comfort, friendship, help_ he could over the tenuous link between them. _Please, Alex. Stop hurting yourself._

_Why? It helps me._

_But it hurts me. Watching you do this to yourself. _

There was a shocked silence for a moment.

_Didn't know you cared._ It sounded almost flippant; sarcastic as a defence mechanism.

_Of course I care. For God's sake, you're my friend. Of course I don't want you to hurt._

At some point, he must have closed his eyes. He opens them now to find Alex watching him, wearing a look that's somewhere between shock and hope.

"Don't give me that look," he says quietly. "Don't look like you can only hope. It's real, I'm real, and I'm not going anywhere, damn it."

Alex pulls his hand back as another tense silence hangs in the air between them. For a few seconds he's absolutely sure that he has completely misinterpreted Alexis Kepton; that he's about to get his nose broken, or, more likely, thrown across the room into a bulkhead. The man can rival Spock when he's angry.

_Why wouldn't he? Grew up on Vulcan_, Leonard thinks. _Had to be able to keep up with the hobgoblins._

_That does not mean that I am like Spock. In case it has escaped your attention, he is handling this far better than I am, despite the fact that his loss is more painful and more immediate._

_He's half-Vulcan, and you're pure-blood human. Grief and loss are not a competition, man. Your pain is no less raw and no less agonising than his._

_I'm not about to attack you, Leonard. You are my friend. I do not want to hurt you any more than I already have._

Alex shuffles a little closer to him, curling against him like a child, and for a long time there are no more words.

As luck and timing would have it, Jim is awake, having just come off shift. On his way back to his quarters, he decides, on a whim, to spend a couple of minutes on the Observatory Deck. It hasn't been the best of days, fraught with minor arguments and mild irritations, and watching the stars always calms him. It brings him back to why he's here at all.

He sees Bones and his deputy, Kepton, sat together, through the glass in the door. Bones is cradling Kepton in his arms, murmuring something he doesn't catch. Kepton is either crying, or has recently ceased doing so. Whatever's going on, the captain decides not to interrupt, but instead opts to go and find Spock.

The Vulcan nods calmly when Jim tells him what he's seen.

"You knew?" Jim splutters in shock.

Spock looks at him and inclines his head slightly. This particular look translates roughly as: _I wasn't certain, but I thought it was likely._ He's getting almost fluent in the language of Spock.

"How? How can you know when I didn't? Or at least, how can you have known for years when I only just worked it out?"

"I may not always understand humans, Jim, but I understand Alex. He was raised Vulcan, after all. And I have known him far longer than you; you could not be expected to pick up his cues."

"And?"

Spock gives him a small smile. "He looks at Leonard in much the same way as I look at you."


	2. Chapter 2

He spends a lot of time with Alex, on shift, in the sickbay. Both of them are pulling double shifts at the moment, because half the ship has gone down with the flu. It's ridiculous, but it is what it is. Leonard's had this particular strain before, so he's immune, and Alex just seems to have the immune system of a tank. He was one of the first to get it – unsurprisingly, given what he did all day, every day – but shrugged it off after a day or so. Other people have been laid up for more than a week, Spock among them. In the few spare moments he has, he wonders why. He puts it down to his long-term exposure to a combination of human and Vulcan infections.

The space flu has its pros and cons. The list of pros: he gets to see him pretty much all the time; he has somebody competent to work with; and he's not about to lose his deputy to space flu. Cons: he has to stay professional practically all day; he knows Alex isn't right and there's nothing he can do; and Jim is bugging him constantly because, with half the crew down, the medical staff and a few ensigns who are over it are the only ones not sick, or on bed-rest to recover. That and the paperwork. Goddamned load of extra paperwork with it. With this many crew members ill, he's been staying behind after shift just to catch up. When Alex isn't in his quarters after their fourth double shift in as many days, he curses the tiredness in his limbs and sets out to look for him. He isn't particularly difficult to find usually; the medical bay, either of their assigned quarters, the mess hall, and the observatory deck seem to be his favourite places on the ship.

When he isn't in any of those places, alarm bells start to ring in Leonard's head.

Alex hasn't been right for days. He's been withdrawn, nervous, and tense, and Leonard has no idea why. They've barely spoken outside of sickbay; they've just crawled into bed and slept from sheer bloody exhaustion. When they're due on-shift, they both just get out of bed, shower, and eat like mindless zombies. Despite the fact that they've been together almost constantly for the last week, they've barely spoken outside of professional capacity.

Now, Leonard is starting to wonder if he shouldn't have talked to Alex about it before. So what if they'd been a few minutes late? Nobody would have really cared.

He tries calling Alex's communicator. No answer.

Now he's really starting to panic. Irrational, perhaps. Emotional, definitely. He goes back to the medical office, and runs a ship-wide scan for Alex Kepton's bio-trace. A little over the top, perhaps. But it gets the job done far more quickly than he could.

A few minutes later, he's knocking on the door to Jim's quarters. He is caught between fury and utter confusion, and as Jim opens the door, he doesn't know what to say.

Jim looks at him, his eyes widen and he immediately protests: "Bones, trust me, it's not what it looks like." But he can see Alex tangled in the sheets of Jim's bed, sleeping, he can see Jim's messy hair and flushed skin, and he decides he doesn't want to see any more.

He turns and runs, not really noticing where he's going. Anywhere away from Alex and Jim is fine right now.

By some circuitous route, he winds up in his own room. He kicks off his boots and dumps the uniform on a chair, not caring about the mess. Still wearing the black undershirt and grey shorts, he yanks the covers up and tries to sleep.

He knows perfectly well he won't be able to, but he tries anyway.

He wakes up what feels like seconds later, not even aware his eyes had closed, to the comms beeping impatiently. He half sits up and thumps the button with one hand.

'Bones, you're not on shift until 1400, and it's a single. Chapel's covering for you, and Jackson's going to take over when you go off-shift. And I want to see you at 1230, okay? Meet me in the mess hall. Kirk out.'

He sighs and shuffles back to a comfortable position, tells the computer to turn off the lights and lower the temperature slightly, and goes back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The comms starts beeping again at 1200, but he's awake before that, staring up blankly in the darkness.

"Why?" he asks softly. "Was I just not good enough for you, Alex? What did I do wrong?"

The ceiling doesn't answer. He sighs and reluctantly swings his legs out of bed, showering quickly and pulling on a clean uniform. He hesitates, looking at the desk – well, looking at the piece of paper taped to the wall above it.

Alex was good at drawing.

"_Oh, come on! Let me see," he laughed, leaning over the younger man's shoulder._

"_Not yet," Alex muttered, pencil darting over the page. "It's not finished yet."_

_Leonard sighed and sat back down at the desk chair with a datapad. He could be patient when it suited him._

_After a few minutes, Alex handed him a piece of paper. "It's not very good… I kinda rushed it…" He sounded so embarrassed about it._

_Leonard smiled. The drawing shows himself and Alex, sleeping, curled in each other's arms. It's a familiar posture, the way they always seem to end up if they're lying next to each other. Many mornings he'd woken up and had to untangle himself._

_He stood up and carefully taped the drawing above his desk._

"_What do you mean, it's not very good?" he asked, pulling Alex into his arms and kissing him. "It's perfect."_

Just in front of the doors to the mess hall, he hesitates. Last night's anger has faded, and now he's just empty. He doesn't feel anything as he walks in and sits down alone with a plate of toast.

"Bones?"

He looks up to see Jim stood in front of him.

"Can I join you?"

He shrugs. "Sure, why not?"

The captain sits down across from him. "Look, Bones, I know you're angry – "

"Five minutes." Leonard glares at him as the anger starts coming back. "You have five minutes to explain what the hell happened before I attempt to beat the living daylights out of you."

Jim sighs. "I told you. It wasn't what it looked like."

Leonard says nothing.

"Okay. I came off-shift at the same time as you, and I decided to check in with Scotty before I went to bed. I saw Alex on the way, and he said he was going up to Observatory Deck. He said he had something he wanted to talk to you about. I said okay and went down to Engineering. Checked in with Scotty, dilithium is fine, we're good for a few more weeks but we need to refuel soon. Went back up to Observatory Deck and found him asleep on the floor. So I carried him back to my room and let him sleep there. I've not had as many double shifts as you two, so I stayed awake and did paperwork. I turned up the temperature because he was shivering." Jim leans back and folds his arms defensively as Leonard watches him.

Still Leonard says nothing. He's turning Jim's words over in his mind.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Bones," Jim mutters. "One, why would I be doing your boyfriend? You are my friend, and friends don't do that. Two, Alex is my friend as well. Three, professional conduct as a captain, major shit. Four, Alex has made it perfectly clear he has no interest in me whatsoever. It's your paranoid mind jumping to conclusions."

"What were you expecting me to think? I can't find him, he's in your bed, asleep, you look like you've just fucked someone into unconsciousness, what the hell did you expect?"

Leonard is very glad that he and Jim are the only ones in the room. He's not ashamed, but he's not quite ready to come out just yet, thank you very much.

"Bones, he's crazy about you. He kept mumbling your name in his sleep, for fuck's sake! He's not about to sleep with me."

That catches Leonard off-guard. "He did?"

Jim nods. "Yeah. It was weird, he kept moving, he couldn't lie still. And he kept saying your name. I think he was having some kind of nightmare, but he was so exhausted I didn't want to wake him."

At that point, the door opens, revealing a very tired-looking Alex Kepton. The circles under his eyes tell Leonard he's really not slept well, if at all, and the stubble tells him he's too tired to care what he looks like. He's only wearing the thin black undershirt with the regulation trousers and boots, and as he gets a cup of coffee, Leonard notices the slight tremor in his hands. He slumps next to them and drinks half the cup in one swallow.

"Alex?" he asks gently.

"What?" the younger man snaps.

"Kepton, how much of that did you hear?" Jim asks, very quietly.

Alex glares at them both and downs the last of the coffee, crumpling the paper cup. "Enough."

Jim stands and walks out, throwing over his shoulder, "I'm leaving you guys to sort this one out between yourselves."

Leonard leans forward and reaches out to take Alex's hand. When Alex pulls his hand back just far enough, he sighs, defeated, and says, "This is complicated."

"You don't trust me." The voice is calm – cold, even – but the eyes are hurt.

"I don't want to lose you. Although, if I'm being honest," Leonard shrugs, "Sooner or later I expect you to figure out that there are better people out there and leave of your own accord."

"Better? How? You love me and care about me… what's going to be better than that? How many other people are going to be able to cope with me?" Alex intends the question to be flippant, but it comes out sounding tired and sad.

"Cope with you? What's to cope with?"

"I'm a touch-telepath, I alternate between being a Vulcan glacier and being desperately needy, I still get recurring nightmares, I've struggled with self-harm – do you want me to continue?" His hands are still shaking, and Leonard pulls him into a hug, then glances at the time.

"Right. We still have an hour or so until either of us are on shift, so I'm taking you somewhere a little more private before I reply to that." Before Alex can protest, Leonard grabs his wrist and pulls him out, down the corridor, back to his own quarters.

"What are you doing?" Alex asks, lying down.

After a little patient blind searching under the bed, Leonard finds the sketchpad and an abandoned pencil next to it. Leaning on the side of the bed, he replies: "Making a point. And a list, for future reference." He speaks aloud as he writes.

"Number one: touch-telepath. Unbelievably useful, has saved our lives more times than I care to remember, and makes you unique." He pauses, and then adds: "Also handy when we're alone together."

Alex laughs quietly. "Nice to know."

"Number two: Vulcan glacier," Leonard continues. "Very rarely happens, can still be useful, but honestly, you were brought up on Vulcan. It's not the kind of thing you'd forget overnight."

"Number three: emotionally distanced." He turns and looks at Alex now, deliberately holding his gaze. "You watched the planet you grew up on destroyed. I think that makes you entitled to get lost inside your own head and be a little distant sometimes." He sighs softly and reaches for the younger man's hand. "Just talk to me about it, okay? Don't bottle it up. It's not healthy."

"It's the Vulcan way to cope. Isolation and meditation."

"And you're human, Alex. And I'm your doctor. I'm telling you it's not healthy and you talk to me, alright?"

Alex nods. "Alright."

Leonard turns back to the paper. "Number four: recurring nightmares. Again, planet destroyed, entirely to be expected, I don't blame you. I suspect I would have far worse than nightmares."

He can't look at Alex as he writes the next point. "Number five: self-harm. I've said it before, I'll say it again – you lost your entire planet, your whole family, everything. Trying to control that kind of pain by self-damage is – well, I won't say normal, but not unexpected." He stops writing, controls his breathing for a few seconds, and then continues: "For the love of god, talk to me. I can't promise to make it stop, but I can be there and you know that."

This time, it's Alex reaching to him. "Hey. Hey. It's alright."

"No, it's bloody not," he mutters, but he holds the offered hand until he knows he can speak evenly again.

"Number six: neediness." He almost wants to laugh. "You aren't needy. You are completely normal in that regard. And I don't give a damn about Vulcan customs – you are human."

He rips the page out and hands it up to Alex. "There. Stick that on your wall or something to remind you."

"Remind me that I'm human, or that I should never get into an argument with you?" Alex asks wryly.

"Both," Leonard retorts, already scrawling on the next page.

"What are you writing now?"

"The second list. Things I like about you." He smiles. "Just the top ten, though."

He doesn't read them out as he writes this time. He doesn't need to – Alex is reading them over his shoulder.

'Number one: fucking superhuman in terms of coping abilities. You are unbelievably strong, and don't ever forget that.

Number two: always curious, and you know that you don't know everything.

Number three: committed. You know that I have an ex-wife and a little girl and you still stick with me.

Number four: honest. Do I even need to explain this one?

Number five: beautiful. Seriously, you have no idea how good-looking you are.

Number six: stubborn as hell. You know what you think and you don't let anyone else bully you into changing your position. Good on you – but please remember to listen when someone warns you not to touch something.

Number seven: incredible artist. Talented hands. Need I say more?

Number eight: your sense of humour. Remember all the times when we sit in my office and just make each other laugh.

Number nine: your intellect. Particularly when used for snappy comebacks. It drives Spock nuts.

Number ten: the fact that you're in love with me. Personally, I can't understand why, but you are.

And I love you too.'

Alex has been reading the list over his shoulder. Now he leans back on the mattress, frowning.

"How long do we have?"

"Um… about an hour and a half. Why?" He turns back to Alex, smirking. "What do you have in mind?" he asks, getting up, moving his knees either side of Alex's hips.

Alex pulls him down, kissing him slowly, tongues sliding over each other. There's enough pent-up need and lust and want in that kiss to drive him insane.

When they break apart, Alex mutters, "I'll give you three guesses."

So Leonard decides to take his time, gently removing Alex's shirt, kissing his way down his chest, little trailing fingertip movements until the younger man is shivering and gasping on every breath.

"Leonard, please… ah-h-h, don't stop, fuck, don't you fucking _dare_ stop…"

Even then, he's slow, gentle, until Alex kisses him roughly and tells him – no, _orders_ him – to go faster and harder, nails digging into his back and _oh_, that's gonna leave scratches and Alex's moaning, begging, faster, please, don't stop, _fuck_, Leonard, please, there, _Leonard_ –

Alex snuggles up to him afterwards, a sleepy smile on his lips.

"Have fun explaining those," he murmurs, running his fingers lightly over the scratches on Leonard's back.

"Hmm… I will. Good luck with that one," he replies, licking and then kissing the bite-mark on the left side of Alex's neck. "Sorry about that, by the way."

He feels, rather than sees, Alex shrug. "I don't mind. Makes me feel like I belong to someone."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This is where it starts to get sadder. If the warnings at the beginning weren't clear: this is rated for suicide attempts, depression and self-harm. If any of that is a trigger for you, **_**don't read this**_**.**

It seems it's not unusual, these days, to find Kepton alone, lying on a floor.

The first time – or at least the first time he saw – was Alex looking up out of the window on Observatory Deck. That, at least, made sense. He was awake, watching the stars go past. He doesn't say anything to Jim, knowing that Leonard will find him and say what needs to be said. He smiles faintly and thinks, _it has taken them long enough._

The second time, he's on Observatory Deck again, but he's fallen asleep. He goes in and moves him to a slightly more comfortable position, puts a cushion under his head, and leaves again. Later, he finds out that Jim and Leonard argue over what happened afterwards.

Now, standing in Kepton's quarters, looking down at the unconscious body, the bottle of vodka, the self-inflicted wounds on his wrists, the blood, the scars, he wonders if he should have said something before. There were signs of it, if he had thought to examine the man's behaviour a little more closely. The guilt can be examined in depth and detail later; the priority now is Kepton – _Alex._ Friendship takes precedence over rank and regulation in this situation.

He calls Leonard, and, after a moment's hesitation, Jim. The captain would not be happy to find his two most senior officers involved in something that concerns the health of another crewmember, but he would be even less impressed to learn it second-hand.

The doctor is there first, in less than four minutes – he must have run straight from the sickbay. He cradles the younger man in his arms, torn between anger and pain and fear. After a moment of silence, he carries Alex in his arms to sickbay, ignoring the blood running down his wrists. Spock watches him go, watches the trail of a single tear down his cheek. No words are spoken.

Jim arrives later – he was tangled up in something with Sulu and the telemetry of their flight-path – but when he does, he too is torn between anger and fear. He asks Spock, his voice quiet, for answers.

Answers he cannot give because he does not know.

They walk down to sickbay in silence. Other crewmembers pass them in the corridors, but neither pays them much heed. There are screens around the bed – there is no medical reason for it, but Spock surmises that Leonard wants privacy.

Jim knocks on the wall, alerting the doctor to their presence. After a pause, the screen is moved back enough to allow them entry. Leonard is sat by the bed, both of his hands holding one of Alex's.

Jim sits down next to him. Puts a hand on his shoulder. Neither of them says anything.

Spock takes a seat on the other side, and lightly rests his fingers on Alex's wounded arm. Alex isn't unconscious; he is in a shallow sleep state. His dreams are complicated and confusing, but all seem to have the same core message from his subconscious: you are not worth this, you are not good enough for this, for him, let him go, let this go, let someone better take your place.

Spock has never seen this before, but he recognises it instinctively. The darkness, the coldness in Alex's mind, and at the same time, the fire. The pain where they meet. The desperate search for something – anything – to make the conflict stop.

Something new flickers over the link. Defeat.

_Now you've seen it, now you know._

_Why?_

There is no answer to that. _Tell Leonard I'm sorry. It's better this way._

_It is not. Why should anything be better if you were to leave?_

_If I were to kill myself, you mean._

_If you were to leave, should that take the form of a transfer, or deliberate misconduct to be sent back to Earth, or indeed to commit suicide. Why would your absence make things better?_

_Because then you guys can get on with saving the universe without me getting in the way. Jim told me what Elder Spock, or Spock Prime, or whatever the hell you want to call him, showed him. It was you three, together, friends, brothers, saving the universe. Not me._

_Parallel timelines are not always identical. This one has been altered by Nero. As such, this future cannot be determined from events that took place in the original reality._

_The point still stands._

_It does not! You are needed here. Whether that fits in with the parallel universe or not. They are not the same, and you – are – needed. Jim is your friend. So am I. Leonard is in love with you, and you are with him. Why do you think you are not needed?_

Silence from the younger. Spock can feel the mental shields beginning to push him back.

_What happened, Alex? What happened to make you like this? _he asks as he is forcibly pushed back into his own mind.

There is no answer, only the silence of his own consciousness. He looks up and Alex is watching him.

"Should've let me die." The calm expression twists in pain. "Damn you, you bastards, why couldn't you just let me die?" he asks, his voice cracking, and there are tears in his eyes. "I wanted to die. Why won't you let me go?"

"What happened?" Spock asks him. "What has happened to you that you believe that you are so unworthy of life?"

Alex glares at him through the tears, the bitterness still stinging Spock even though he knows that Alex is hurting, he is emotional and lashing out and doesn't mean what he's saying. The glare fades, replaced with a watchful, indifferent gaze.

He has known Alex for long enough to see it for the façade it is.

"I guess if you get told enough times that you're inadequate, sooner or later you start to believe it."

Jim says nothing for the moment, but Spock can see the shift in his posture, the tension in his jaw, and knows enough to recognise it as a danger signal. Jim is getting angry over this – presumably what has been inflicted upon Alex in the past – and a similar anger is curling in his own mind.

He notes absently that Leonard does not share their reaction. He hasn't looked up from where his forehead is pressed against his knuckles. He's still holding Alex's hand. In the harsh white lights of sickbay, Spock can see the tears glisten on his eyelashes.

"Who told you that you weren't good enough?" Jim asks, and the repressed anger in his tone is something very dangerous when talking to a depressed, suicidal man, Spock thinks, but says nothing.

Alex shrugs, as if it's some unimportant detail, lost to memory. "Do you want me to answer alphabetically or chronologically?" he asks, his bitter half-smile and flippant tone not fooling anyone.

Leonard whispers a very quiet, "Shit, Alex, why didn't you come and talk to me?"

Something in Alex's expression changes to guilt. "I didn't want to hurt you. I thought if you just found me gone… if you thought it was an accident… just an accidental overdose…" He doesn't say anything else. His voice cracks and then goes altogether.

Spock stands up, gently touches Jim's shoulder. Let them have their privacy.

Jim nods, and stays silent until they're standing in one of the empty meeting rooms, alone.

"I swear," he mutters, "I am going back through his records and finding out who fucked him over so badly. I don't care how long it takes. I am not letting this one go."

Spock isn't sure if he's referring to Alex with that, or to the theoretical problem of getting the information he wants. Either way, Jim isn't far from the stage of shouting, punching walls and throwing things, none of which will be productive in any way.

He tells the captain to go and work out for an hour or so to relieve some of the tension. Jim nods, "Good idea," and goes, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He sits in that empty meeting room for a long time, meditating. If he had thought about it before, perhaps he would have noticed.

The times when Alex would seem to be in another world entirely, one where his every action was wrong. Sometimes the futility seemed to break him. Then someone would look at him, ask him something, and the mask would return.

How sometimes Alex would flinch from him, or the captain, or even from Leonard. Knowing that it would hurt them, but seemingly unable to stop himself.

The fact that he seemed to eat very little. Even considering his upbringing – not too dissimilar to Spock's own – he ate almost nothing, and never ate if anyone other than Leonard was present.

His persistence in long sleeves and black undershirts, when almost everyone else on the ship had gone past the point of caring about regulation and wore what was comfortable. At the time, he had dismissed it as a personal choice, perhaps reflecting insecurities about his appearance. Now he wonders if the long sleeves were merely there to conceal his wrists.

All these little warning signs he had missed.


	5. Chapter 5

Leonard waits for them to leave before he speaks. His voice is going to crack, he knows, and his halting words wouldn't be made any easier by the presence of two friends who are viciously angry on Alex's behalf. He could practically feel it seeping out of them.

"Alex?" he says, very quietly. "So help me, never, ever do this again."

He breaks off, bitter tears burning his eyes.

"You don't know what it's doing to me. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is you lying on the floor, dying, bleeding out. Alex" – he breaks off again as his throat closes up. "Alex, it's killing me."

And now both of them are shaking as Alex grips his hands and he looks up and Alex kisses him, still crying, their tears running together.

Spock walks back to his own quarters, deep in thought, debating whether or not to talk to the ambassador. The older Vulcan may not be able to help directly, but experience is better than hypothesising with precious little evidence.

"Spock. What is it?"

"I need you to tell me everything you know about Alexis Kepton."

The elder shook his head and sighed. Over the comms it sounded like a rush of static.

"There was an Alexis Kepton in my timeline. I formed a close friendship with him during our time at the academy, as did Doctor McCoy. However, he did not take well to life on-board the Enterprise. For whatever reason, he felt that he was not good enough."

"What happened to him?"

"Eighteen months into the voyage, we found him in his quarters." The elder Spock pauses, and the sentence that follows is quietly spoken. "He had committed suicide."

Spock hesitates before asking, "Did you find out why?"

"He left no note. I suspected his upbringing was responsible for inculcating feelings of worthlessness in him. Doctor McCoy blamed himself for not noticing something was wrong sooner for many years." The older Vulcan watches him closely. "What has happened?"

He pauses for a moment before he speaks. "Alex attempted suicide by means of an overdose. I found him unconscious and alerted Leonard, who took him to sickbay." If there is a slight waver in his voice, an undue inflection, the older Vulcan is polite enough to ignore it.

"You have given him a second chance."

After a few more questions, he says his goodbyes and ends the call, playing the words of the Elder Spock in his mind.

_He felt he was not good enough… Doctor McCoy blamed himself… _

Perhaps Doctor McCoy's alternate counterpart did not have the chance to say what their version has already voiced. The pain of a friend dying, without ever knowing exactly how they are loved… He pushes the thought away. It is irrelevant to the current situation.

He sighs quietly, and walks back down to sickbay. As he expected, Alex is sitting up on the bed, cross-legged, reading something on a datapad. He watches Spock, but makes no move to stop him as he sits down in the chair he occupied earlier. He sets the datapad on the bedcovers and continues to watch Spock in a manner reminiscent of a hunted animal.

"Where is the doctor?"

"Taking a shower and finding something to eat," Alex replies without breaking his gaze. "I'm just waiting for him. Why?"

"I spoke with Elder Spock."

"And?"

"And I do not wish our timeline to end the way his did."

Alex tilts his head, but cautiously leans forward, reaching for Spock's meld-points. Even now, he is still wary, as if he is afraid. "Show me."

So Spock does. He shows Alex the Elder Spock's description, the pain it caused Leonard, the sickening fear he felt when he found Alex lying on the floor, the furious anger of Jim, the desperate wish shared by all of them that things can change for the better.

Alex's reaction is mostly one of surprise, followed swiftly by guilt. He seemed unaware that they cared. He doesn't break the link when Spock is finished, instead opting to make a reply, of sorts, to an earlier question.

_A small boy with dark hair and light brown eyes. Shaking. Throwing up. Eyes burning with tears._

_His parents ignoring him, unless they were telling him to behave properly._

_The other children smug, telling him that now they know he's not Vulcan._

_The sick fear of waking up in the morning and having to go to school, and trying desperately to suppress the emotion._

_Three older children provoking him, pushing and shoving, coldly calling him Human, infant, freak, go back to the stupid backward planet where you belong. Oh, wait, they didn't want you, did they?_

_The cruel thoughtlessness of his teachers, telling him 'must try harder to maintain control' and 'should learn to ignore simple insults' and 'not suited to Vulcan methods' and 'must learn respect'._

_Being continually in the lower 50 per cent of the class, even though that includes half his tormentors, and getting another lecture from his 'parents' because of it._

_Deliberately pushing himself to do better, studying every day when his peers were relaxing, meditating, just to keep up and slowly work his way to the top._

_The pain of finally arriving on Earth, only to be called Vulcan, robot, freak, go back to your lifeless desert world where you belong. Oh, wait, they didn't want you, did they?_

_Getting attacked by other cadets who are drunk, high, just looking for a laugh._

_Being lectured by Starfleet on 'must learn self-control' and 'they were only messing with you' and 'not suited to Earth lifestyle' and 'overreaction'._

_Finally getting into the top one per cent of cadets, just to get beaten up as a nerd even more._

_Accepting that he would never be getting it right, would never be good enough, and finally giving in._

_And then Spock and Jim and Leonard fucking that up for him._

Spock breaks the meld at that point, reeling. Much of what he saw was consistent with his own experience, but he never experienced such difficulties. Such pain.

Alex's expression doesn't change as he says, "You realise, of course, what you just saw was the edited version. Sans most of the swearing, venom, and existential crises. Bloody shame surgeon's hands don't work as well when you're drunk."

It is all Spock can do to shake his head slightly in disbelief. He stands, knowing Leonard is leaning on the doorframe, watching them. Alex can't see him, though, facing away from the door.

"Talk to him," he says quietly. "He does not seem inclined to run away."

Alex gives him that strange half-smile again, part amusement and part bitterness. "Most people aren't, to begin with. They look at me, they think I'm pretty, they think I'm fast, they think I'm clever. They think that I'm strong. And then they start to talk to me, they learn what I really am, and the sweet little picture they have of me falls apart. He'll leave in the end. So will Jim, so will you. Everybody fucking does."

A half-strangled sob escapes Leonard's throat and the doctor sounds so broken in that moment that it terrifies Spock that this man holds the lives of everyone aboard this ship in his hands.

Some small voice reminds him that Alex is the deputy, and wonders how this ship has managed to avoid disaster for so long. He ignores it. In terms of medical and professional capability, they are the best available. It is only emotionally that they fall down.

Alex turns, the bitter anger in his eyes turning to guilt again, and Leonard took a couple of steps towards them.

"Sorry. Not interrupting anything, am I?" Ordinarily, the remark would have been tinged with the doctor's usual dry sarcasm. The fact that it wasn't made the exchange feel even worse.

Spock shakes his head. "No. Nothing."

Alex sighs quietly, carefully swings his legs off the bed and tests his balance. A little wobbly, but hardly unexpected after the amount of vodka he'd downed. He takes a few hesitant steps and Leonard is there with a hand on his arm when he stumbles over something left on the floor.

They walk out in silence and Spock is once more alone with his thoughts. Foremost in his mind is fear – plain and simple fear. Because if what he saw was the 'edited version' as Alex had put it, he dreads to think what the reality had been.

Thankfully, Jim wanders in to distract him before he can get too lost in that thought.

"There's nothing too in-depth, but it's a start. I think you should see this."

He expects to go back to Jim's quarters, so when they head for his own, he is momentarily puzzled.

Jim shrugs. "The temperature will still be set high in your room. No point deliberately making you cold when there's an alternative available." He runs one hand through his already messed hair and yawns. "Thank god we've managed to get back to single shifts." There's a pause as the words sink in, and Spock understands his secondary meaning.

He had gone looking for Kepton straight after his – single – shift to discuss something. Had he been on a double shift, it was entirely possible that no-one would have found the young doctor until it was too late.

He doesn't really know how to reply to that, so he settles for a simple nod and changes the subject.

"What did you manage to find?"

Jim sighs exasperatedly. "Not much. A lot of it's blocked because I can't access his medical records. I found a little bit about who his parents were, what happened as he was growing up. Just little things, but I though we had to start somewhere."

He opens the door to his quarters on autopilot, barely aware of the motion of his fingers over the keypad, and he sits down and Jim pulls up a chair as they start looking.

Because of the way the records are arranged, they start with the most recent event on file that they can access, which is almost five years ago. A fight with four other cadets in a corridor next to his dorm.

Spock nods slowly. "I remember the incident. He came in with a bleeding nose and a cut on his cheekbone, and apparently the other cadets were in various states of unconsciousness."

Jim shakes his head – in awe, in anger, Spock can't tell. "What did they do to him?"

"What did they _attempt _to do to him," Spock corrects him dryly. "And I do not know. He never told me."

They skim through the report. What they find sickens them both.

"He knocked out four cadets, threw someone into a wall and broke someone's hip," Jim mutters. "Something tells me he didn't do that just because one of them insulted his parentage."

Spock makes no reply, instead rereading the section detailing the repercussions of Alex's self-defence.

"He lied to them."

Jim frowns. "He what?"

"He lied to them. He told Starfleet the cadets had insulted him and he'd lost his temper. Because they couldn't prove otherwise, they had to accept it." Spock's eyes narrow. "They all knew he was raised on Vulcan, and they accepted his story. They had to have known he would only be that violent if he was afraid for his life."

"So, they knew something else was going on, but because they couldn't prove it, they punished him anyway?" Jim asks incredulously. "Fucking Starfleet bastards."

They go back further. There are several reports of injuries inflicted on others with the same reason given – Alex said they'd insulted him – every time. The injuries range from minor contusions to unconsciousness and broken limbs. Usually it's more than one person; the record so far is six, with four broken noses, five unconscious cadets, one dislocated jaw, multiple fractures, more minor contusions than the report space will allow, and one broken wrist making up that fight. The broken wrist was Alex's.

"Where did he learn to fight like that?" Jim asks, awe and fear mingling in his voice. "He started the fight with a smashed wrist and still came out on top."

"He is medically trained, so he would have a wide knowledge of pressure points and efficient techniques. He did also grow up in an environment considered hostile to human physiology, with a large group who did not trust him. I would venture to suggest that has something to do with it."

Jim shakes his head. "He used to get beaten up on Vulcan? I thought you went more for calculated insults than physical pain."

"Children will try a wide range of things to provoke a reaction," Spock says quietly, and Jim looks at him then, frowning. "I ignored most of it, but insulting my mother usually gave them a reaction, if not quite the one they were looking for."

Jim looks like he's torn between wanting to smile and wanting to feel sorry for his first officer, so Spock turns back to the screen and something at the bottom of the list catches his attention.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Alexithymia means 'without words for emotion' – it's common among people on the Asperger's/autistic spectrum. Alexis literally translates as 'without words'.**

"Why didn't you talk to me?" Leonard asks. He's sat on the bed in his quarters, Alex half-curled around him while Leonard idly strokes his hair.

"I didn't want to hurt you. It wasn't your fault, none of it was." Alex is quiet, his voice ragged with tears. "You shouldn't have to deal with this."

"I have several answers to that: one, I'm a doctor, it's my job to deal with it; two, I'm in love with you, so anything upsetting you upsets me; three, it wasn't your fault and you shouldn't be dealing with it either." He presses a light kiss against the top of Alex's head. "And you know all that anyway. Now tell me the real reason."

Alex shifts a little, tucking his head further into the crook of Leonard's neck. "I didn't want you to pity me. I didn't want you to see me any differently, didn't want you to…" He tails off, ashamed and awkward. Alexithymic. How ironic.

Leonard sighs softly, and very gently tilts Alex's head up so they're looking into each other's eyes. "You thought I would run."

By the way Alex looks down, doesn't meet his gaze, he knows he's right. He pulls him closer, arms wrapped around his skinny waist. Too skinny. He makes a note in the back of his mind to do something about that.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to make you feel awkward by pitying you or treating you any differently. But I want to know why. Maybe not right now. Maybe not soon. But I'm not going to just abandon you, even if I never get an answer."

Alex's shaking, close to tears again – guilt, pain, gratitude, neither of them are sure. Leonard pulls the covers over them both and tells the computer to dim the lights.

"Try and get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here when you wake up. Promise."

He knows he won't sleep much tonight.

Jim frowns. "That's the earliest file I could find, but it's dated a few weeks before he was born. Not really sure how that's possible."

"The records must be inaccurate or deliberately falsified," Spock replies absently, opening the file and skimming the information. He frowns, shakes his head. "No. This must have been corrupted. This cannot be true," he mutters, almost to himself, rereading the information, hoping he is wrong.

"What? What is it?"

Spock shakes his head. "I thought we had gone beyond this."

"Spock," Jim says, and his voice is strained. "What is it?"

"It explains how Alexis Kepton was created."

"What? Created?"

"Yes. Created. He was not born a telepath. He is a human body containing a Vulcan mind. The child of his Vulcan 'parents' died, and the dead child's _katra_ – his soul, if you will – was held by the mother. When she found a baby similar in appearance given away, she adopted him and transferred the _katra_ to him. But it was not wholly successful. The Vulcan child was weak, and the human mind was strong. The result was that the child's mind was perpetually at war with itself, with no idea why."

Jim shakes his head. "So Alex isn't a human telepath after all, he's a hybrid? Okay, not half-human, half-Vulcan in the same sense as you, but still. Human body, Vulcan mind."

"Indeed. It does, however, explain how he exerts far more control over his body than any human can ever hope to learn."

"What did you mean when you said, 'I thought we had gone beyond this'?" Jim asks nervously.

"The taking of another's life is a crime. Even to save a dead child… to force the soul of one into the body of another amounts to the same thing. It is murder, Jim, because even though the victim still lives and breathes, they are not who they were. When this kind of transfer is done, the original occupant of the mind is generally killed or so suppressed they may as well be dead."

"But because it didn't work…"

"The two minds are always fighting for control. Yes. Which is why Alex struggles so much with his emotions; he is neither human nor Vulcan, so neither method of self-control is adequate. It used to be done when someone was thought too valuable to lose, or if their physical body could be restored."

"Used to be?" The question hangs in the air.

Spock nods. "It was outlawed, generations ago, when it was shown that it was no longer applied logically, fairly, or to be entirely without drawbacks. How his parents were able to undertake this, I do not know, and I would expect there is little use in trying to find out. They are not among the survivors."

"Is there a way to reverse it?"

"There is, but I doubt it would work. It is meant to be undertaken as soon as possible after the transfer. In this case, the two minds have been fused for too long. Trying to remove or destroy one would likely cause irreparable damage. And even if it did work, he would not be the same person afterwards."

Jim nods in understanding. "Because both parts are needed to make up the personality we know as Alex Kepton. Okay. So there's nothing we can do about that. But he can't be the only one, there must have been others. How did they cope with it?"

"I do not know, and it will be extremely difficult to find out. The archives which might have held the information on Vulcan are destroyed, and I doubt any of the survivors will have that kind of archaic knowledge."

"What about the ambassador?" Jim asks. "Even if he doesn't know for certain, he might be able to tell us something useful."

Spock nods, then realises what the time is. "Jim, we are both due on Beta shift tomorrow. It will have to wait until the morning."

Jim sighs. "I know. It just… I hate it, don't you? He just looked so, so vulnerable. So lost. And there's nothing we can do to fix it."

"There is something. We are not helpless, Jim, and we will be able to help him. But exhausting ourselves is counter-productive." His eyes darken for a second, and Jim sees a glimpse of the depth of Vulcan emotions. "But yes. I hate it too."

When the comms goes, Leonard grimaces and reluctantly removes one arm from the warmth of the bed. Alex is asleep on his chest and he can't really move without waking him. "McCoy here. Go ahead," he says quietly.

"Bones, we've found some useful stuff, so can you and Alex meet us at oh-nine-hundred? Officer's mess. I think we're all on Beta shift today, so it should be fine. If not, doesn't matter, you're both off for at least a week, and it's already gone through before you start asking questions. Kirk out."

Leonard sighs. "Computer, time?"

"Oh-six-fifty-eight."

"Wonderful." He doesn't make any move to get up. Damn Jim for being a morning person.

Alex stirs sleepily and cuddles closer. He's mumbling again. It's happened on and off through the night.

"Leonard… Leonard, where are you? I can't… I can't see…"

Leonard sighs softly and takes his hand. It's probably not wise, touch-telepathy being what it is, but it calms him quickly and pulls him towards consciousness.

The younger opens his eyes after a moment or so, blinking in the dim light.

"Morning, sleepyhead." His normally neat black hair is mussed, sticking up at odd angles, and his eyes have the slow sleepy look of someone not really fully awake. In Leonard's opinion, it's adorable, not that he'd ever say that aloud outside these four walls.

"I didn't keep you awake, did I?"

"No, you didn't. It's fine." He smiles up at Alex. "Breakfast?"

"Hmm. Coffee."

"Hmm. I'm pretty sure I said 'breakfast'."

"Caffeinated coffee, then. But yes, I'll eat something."

"You are a terrible patient, do you know that?" Leonard asks, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"Says the doctor who won't allow himself to be hyposprayed by other doctors under any circumstance except a sneak attack," Alex retorts, shifting to lie on top of him and pin him down again.

Leonard pushes himself up on his elbows and gently presses their lips together. "I love you."

Alex smiles and murmurs, "I love you too."

They grab a table in the Officer's Mess at ten to nine, Kirk joins them at four minutes to, and Spock is – of course – the one who arrives at nine on the dot. Ordinarily, it would irk Leonard that he is the one who is early after being the last one to wake. At the moment, though, it's a useful opportunity to get Alex to eat something. Toast and peanut butter – hardly the epitome of health, but he has to start somewhere.

"So," the captain says, while Leonard munches leftover toast and Alex swigs coffee. "Spock and I were looking through the records, trying to see if there was anything that might be helpful. You know, history as a cadet, permanent record, that kind of thing."

Alex mutters a very quiet curse into his coffee. Spock gives him a look, but says nothing.

"And at first, all we found were a lot of records about punishment for fighting. Not particularly useful, but we both noticed that you lied to the officers investigating the incidents. And Vulcans – as Spock is fond of reminding us – do not lie. So that was strange, right from the start. And we went back further – first record of the name 'Alex Kepton' on file – and found a lot of complicated information about your birth. Obviously, I can't explain it because I don't really understand it, so over to you, Spock."

Jim watches their reactions as Spock explains. Leonard is initially puzzled, then horrified; Alex looks like he's about to be sick.

"My god," Leonard murmurs. "To lose a child is agony, yes. It's heartbreaking. But how can anyone do something like that? Just disregard another person's life, their potential, so easily?"

"I do not know," Spock replies. "I cannot understand why going through such pain would make someone choose to inflict it on another. The information available to us is limited; many of the archives that might have helped us were destroyed."

"So for the moment," Alex mutters, "I'm stuck like this. You can't take the Vulcan out of my head because he's been there so long he's probably fused with the human part of me. You can't suppress either because it would change my personality and probably render me unfit for duty. And you can't make allowances for me because it breaks about forty different Starfleet regulations."

Spock very gently rests a hand on his arm. "That does not mean we are helpless, and it does not mean that things cannot get better."

"Or, to put it another way, when you've hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up." Alex pauses, then asks, "Spock, may I speak with you alone?"

"Of course." They both stand and walk to the far end of the mess hall.

"Did any healers survive?"

"I believe there are several. Do you think perhaps one of them may be able to help you?"

"I think it is worth finding out. Given that this is a conflict of the mind, there would be few better placed to offer assistance."

"Indeed. We are due for shore leave soon, are we not? I believe a course adjustment to New Vulcan could be arranged. The crew would have to sleep on the Enterprise, but there is no reason why they could not explore the colony during the day. I imagine they will accommodate us."

Alex nods. "Would you be willing to accompany me?"

"Of course, although I do not understand why I would be needed."

"You can be far more controlled than I can, and I think you would be extremely helpful as an intermediary between myself and the healer. Your experience and understanding of Vulcan culture is better than mine."

"Then I will try and assist in any way possible. I presume Leonard will go with you? As your partner, the healer may wish to speak to him also."

"Yes, he'll be with me. Moral support. Thank you."

Spock turned back, addressing the captain. "Sir. Alex has suggested that a Vulcan mind-healer may be of assistance to him. Are we able to adjust the ship's course to reach New Vulcan and take shore leave there?"

Jim nodded. "Sure. Shouldn't be too difficult. I'll get Sulu and Chekhov on it when we get to the bridge. And obviously you need to call ahead, let them know we're on our way."


	7. Chapter 7

They get to New Vulcan a few days later. Most of the crew beam down for the change of scene, but a few stay behind – to work, to rest. Scotty's working on the engines, something to do with increasing the ship's efficiency. Jim is also stuck on the ship, doing all the paperwork he's been studiously ignoring or falling behind on for the last few months and that Starfleet is now demanding.

Leonard, Spock and Alex are the last three to beam down.

"I was able to arrange a meeting with the healer. She advised us to attend as soon as possible."

"Does she know we're all going?" Leonard asks.

"Yes. I did forewarn her that there would be three of us present."

The office is small, but perfectly neat. White walls, neutral furniture, and a few small glass weights, some with colours suspended, others clear. There are bookshelves along one wall, holding huge numbers of datapads, along with a few smaller paperback and hardback books.

The healer is an older woman, tall, with silvery hair and green eyes, dressed in traditional robes. When they arrive, Spock rapidly explains in Vulcan who they are and why they are present. The healer nods, makes a few brief notes, and gestures for them to sit.

"Now then. Which of you is Kepton?"

Alex raises his hand. "I am Alexis Kepton."

"Date of birth?"

Alex looks at Spock, who gives the two dates: one for the Vulcan, one for the human. The healer frowns, writes down both and then continues.

"Human or Vulcan?"

"Neither and both. Hybrid."

Another frown, another scribbled note.

"Have you attempted to meld recently?"

"Yes, and it was successful."

"Have you attempted to bond with another?"

Alex swallows nervously and glances to his right, at Leonard. "No. Not yet."

When the healer looks down to note his response, Leonard briefly takes his hand and squeezes lightly.

_It's alright. I'm here._

_I know._

"I will need to ask a few personal questions, so if your friends could wait outside for a moment," she says, not looking up.

Once Spock and Leonard have left, she continues. "Were you raised human or Vulcan?"

"Raised Vulcan, but I learned I was human approximately at the age of eight. I transferred to Earth and joined Starfleet three days after I turned seventeen."

The healer raises one perfect eyebrow. "You ran away?"

"I did."

She notes it down. "What is the nature of your problem?"

"I have always found my emotions difficult to control, apparently more so than my peers. After researching my parents and background I learned that there was a possibility that I am the fusion of a human mind and a Vulcan katra. I believe it is this fusion that has caused the problem."

"How so?"

"I… I am depressed, to the point of being suicidal. I cannot suppress the emotions, as is the Vulcan way, but I cannot let them go either, as humans can. I cannot control fears that I know to be irrational, and I cannot cope with my own emotional pain."

"Can you tell me where this 'pain' stems from?"

"I have never fitted in, I have never belonged anywhere. Because I am neither human nor Vulcan, I did not truly belong with either community. Only recently have I found a small group who accept me as I am without mocking me or trying to change me."

The healer nods, writes something down. "What would you want to gain from this healing?"

"I need to be able to reconcile the two minds. I do not wish to lose or suppress either, but I need to find a way to control the emotional differences."

"I am going to have to perform a surface meld, and then a deeper meld, to assess your state," the healer explains. "If there is something you do not wish me to see, tell me now."

Alex swallows, and mutters: "My memories of… intimacy with Leonard."

Is that a faint hint of a smile on her face? "Very well."

The meld is light, barely there; just the whisper of another's mind against his. As it became deeper, Alex has to fight the urge to push back against this unknown influence. When she breaks the meld a few minutes later, his mind gasps with relief.

"I have never encountered this before," the healer admits, as Spock and Leonard re-enter. "You are correct; you are indeed a fusion of two minds. You say you do not wish to suppress either?"

"I do not."

"In that case, all I can do is try to teach you how to cope with the conflict. How long can you remain here?"

"Shore leave ends in five days."

"Then I suggest you come back here tomorrow, as early as possible, and I shall try to help you."

"Any use?" Leonard asks, as they walk back. Spock has gone to talk to his father, so for the moment, they are alone.

"In a limited way. I have to go back tomorrow." Alex sighs, runs one hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Leonard asks, frowning. "None of this is your fault."

Alex laughs bitterly. "How is it not my fault, exactly? If I could keep it together, if I could control myself, if I'd got the damn dose right, none of this would be happening."

Leonard links their fingers together. "It is not your fault. Don't blame yourself. You are doing the best that you can, and frankly, I am amazed. I would have been lost long ago."

Alex half-smiles, flushing slightly, looking down and away. "You do know what this gesture means on Vulcan, right?" he asks, holding up their linked fingers.

Leonard smirks. It's not a strong link, Alex is deliberately shielding his thoughts, but there are still emotions leaking through. Specifically, lust, love, desire, adoration. And a tiny thread of hope.

"I could not give less of a damn. Let's go back up – I need to take this somewhere private before I scar some poor Vulcan teenager." He flips open the communicator. "Two to beam up, Scotty."

When they are alone again, standing in his quarters with the door closed and locked, he mutters to the younger man, "You don't need to hope."

Alex looks at him, puzzled, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You still _hope_ that things will get better. It doesn't have to be a hope, it's not a _maybe_ or an _if_, it is a _when _and a _will_. It's not hope if you know it's going to happen. Same way you don't need to hope we can stay together. We will. Apart from anything else, if I've put up with you this long, you can't get rid of me that easily."

Alex doesn't answer directly, kissing him, hard, pulling him back against the wall.

"I love you," Leonard says when they break apart for air. "I love you, you crazy bastard. And I'll keep saying it until you damn well believe it."

Alex shivers and wraps his arms around Leonard, hiding his face. It feels like he's trying to suppress tears.


End file.
